Just A Little While Longer
by Mandimal
Summary: "It was verdant green forests and old history, giants, bandits and dragons; a place where men and women could wage battles that would be told in story and song. A place where he had fought and dared and won once… but not anymore. Men of sixty years did not don armor and fight dragons, even if they were the famous Inquisitor..." A Dorian/M!Lavellan fiction...Reviews Welcome!
1. Beginning of The End

Author's Note: This pretty little thing (which I don't own, incidentally…it belongs to Shira-chan) ( art/Just-a-Little-While-Longer-DA-I-Dorian-Inquisitor-505506895 ) is the whole inspiration for this fic. Bam! Right in the feels…

I always wonder about the "after". When does someone's story truly end? Especially heroes like the Inquisitor and his people. Hopefully we can remember that our story always matters to someone.

Warnings: Obviously, Dorian and M!Lavellan, so implied male on male intimacy. Mild swearing.

Translations:

Ma Vhenan: My heart (an endearment similar to dearest or my love)

Revas: Freedom

Aneth ara: Literally "My safe place" but used as an informal greeting, usually among Dalish

emm'asha: my girl

vhenan'ara: heart's desire

amatus: beloved

Just a Little While Longer

Inquisitor Anafiel Lavellan watched from the battlements as another group departed- to the Dales, he thought. It was verdant green forests and old history, giants, bandits and dragons; a place where men and women could wage battles that would be told in story and song. A place where _he _had fought and dared and won once… but not anymore. Men of sixty years did not don armor and fight dragons, even if they were the famous Inquisitor.

Sixty. Anafiel thought the word again, and with it came a bitter taste in his mouth, like biting a bad coin. He watched his valiant soldiers laugh and joke with each other, young and brave and carefree, and remembered a time when he had led his own group out that same gate. The Iron Bull swinging his ax and ruminating on the possibility of dragons, Varric asking Dorian to tell him sordid tales of Tevinter- research for his next book, he said. Solas's dry wit and intelligence, Cole's blunt, honest comments making iron-willed Cassandra blush, Sera always adding something to capitalize on the Lady Seeker's discomfort. And Blackwall…but no. Thinking of Blackwall always hurt. "Something wrong, Inquisitor?"

"Just…pondering, Commander."

"Not pleasant thoughts, from the looks of it." Cullen was technically 'Captain' Cullen now, but as a new Commander had not yet been named, Anafiel still had a hard time thinking about him as anything else. He was still a beautiful man, still tall and proud, his regal bearing not diminished by the shake in his hands that had never quite left him after he had bravely given up taking lyrium.

"When do you know, Cullen?" Anafiel leaned his hip against the wall, "When do you know when your story is over? When you've outlived your usefulness?"

"I hope you are not speaking of yourself, Inquisitor."

"I can't range, I can't fight. Our children run the castle." 'Our children' was an all-encompassing term for Anafiel's Inner Circle's offspring; he himself had none, although he had become especially close to Grey and Celeste Ranier after their father's death. "I just wonder sometimes…"

"After the life you've led, you deserve a rest Inquisitor." Cullen replied firmly. "And I assure you, no one considers you useless."

"Yes, thank you Cullen." Anafiel felt a little better; not much, but it was something. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should speak to Mistress Dennet." Seanna Dennet had taken her fathers' place as horse master after he died peacefully in his sleep some fifteen years ago.

"Of course, Inquisitor. Have a pleasant day."

Anafiel didn't know about 'pleasant', but as he neared the stables he did find his mood lightening. He had always loved it here- the smell reminded him of easier days when he would help with the clan's halla. "Hello, beautiful girl." Anafiel rubbed his hart's nose. Her warm breath whooshed across Anafiel's neck as she greeted him. Revas was actually the daughter of the first red hart gifted to him when he became Inquisitor- her mother now spent her days happily roaming the groves just up the mountain from Skyhold. "Aneth ara, emm'asha."

"Hullo, Inquisitor!"

Anafiel turned and smiled despite his melancholy. "Well met, Grey. How are you?"

Grey Rainier raked unruly dark hair out of eyes that were the exact shape and color of his mother's. Anafiel always had the strangest feeling he was looking at Josephine every time he saw the young man, even though he favored his father Thom's coloring and build. As always, the thought of Blackwall brought an ache of remorse to Anafiel's chest, even though he had died years ago when Grey was just a lad. "Better now. We just got word from the pass…Carver and Haven are on their way back."

The 'Haven' Grey referred to was Haven Tethras, Varric's daughter with Cassandra. Anafiel still had trouble with that and the girl was almost twenty. Not that Anafiel disapproved by any means- Haven was a bright eyed, sharp-witted girl with her mother's steel spine and her father's gift for making friends. She was almost frighteningly observant and Lead Scout Harding-Aclassi had taken special interest in her, often taking her along on scouting missions. Carver was Carver Hawke Rutherford, but mostly everyone called him the Young Lion. He was Cullen's miniature in every detail- strong arm, stronger convictions, and looks that had left a trail of maidens swooning at his feet.

"That is good news!" Anafiel clapped Grey on the back. "I didn't know how I was going to manage Cassandra if Haven didn't show up soon."

"The Commander and Mistress Bethany were starting to get worried too."

"Is _that_ why I found a suspicious number of our soldiers in the infirmary?" Cullen was notoriously poor at covering his emotions-and it usually translated into even heavier training sessions for the newer recruits. "I suppose I should consider sending a group to restock our elfroot supplies."

"Aye, best put in a requisition for new practice dummies too." Grey's grin was infectious. "Not only was Haven delayed, but Master Varric missed his boat from Kirkwall and won't be here until next week. There's not a stick of wood or green recruit safe from the Lady Seeker's wrath. Messere Cole's taken to hiding her swords when she's not looking. 'They're safer there,' He says."

Anafiel chuckled appreciatively, remembering a time many years ago when Cole had said something similar to him. "Tell him to put them with the formal uniforms. They bring back memories of Halamshiral…something Cassandra would dearly love to forget."

"Was that when they almost assassinated the Empress?" Grey asked attentively. "What happened? Did the Lady Seeker have to do something terrible?"

"Yes," Anafiel said solemnly. His strange, red eyes were twinkling with amusement. "Very terrible indeed. She had to…._dance._"

He took his leave with Grey's hearty laugh ringing in his ears. He was still smiling when he met Dorian coming down the stairs from the library. "Oh good, I was just coming to find you. I must say, you're looking chipper."

"How could I not, with such a brilliant man seeking me out?" Anafiel linked his arm with Dorian's and pressed a kiss onto the other mage's lips. No one had expected them to stay together after the Corypheus incident- Dorian had plans to return to Tevinter, and Anafiel was the most popular man in Thedas, and therefore practically couldn't call his soul his own- but here they were almost forty years later. Dorian couldn't bring himself to leave. "I'll stay here with the Inquisition…with you…just a little while longer." He had said. He never had cause to regret it, but he _was _glad to see Anafiel smiling again. The Inquisitor had been unusually solemn following the grand occasion of his sixtieth birthday a few weeks ago.

"The things you say," Dorian scoffed, though Anafiel could tell he was pleased.

"How was your day, ma vhenan?"

"Quite passable, although if you could manage to teach your magelings to actually _return _books to the library, it would make my life easier. I'm too old to go traipsing off to their tower every time I want something. And the next dog-eared page I see…"

"I'll speak to them." Anafiel promised. Dorian scrutinized his face carefully.

"You're laughing at me…"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes, yes you would."

"Yes, I would. You're right."

"Haven't you learned by now that I am _always _right?"

They bantered all the way down to the tavern, where they always took their dinner. It was noisier here, but there was always someone to eat with and no one to fawn over the 'Herald of Andraste' as younger courtiers in the Great Hall were wont to do. Anafiel smiled, laughed at their chatter, but ate little. Then, one of the apprentice mages came down with a question that couldn't be answered without practical application, so Anafiel offered to go demonstrate.

Hours later, Dorian found Anafiel sitting on the stairs that led toward the Mage's Tower, lost in thought again. He lowered himself carefully to sit beside him, grimacing as his knees protested the movement. Anafiel smiled at him but the smile was sad somehow.

"The Young Lion returns today." Dorian said. Anafiel nodded.

"So Grey said. He's beside himself with joy."

"It's such a shame he can't admit that he's madly in love with the boy."

"I recall a certain Tevinter mage that had a hard time confessing his feelings too."

"Touché, amatus." Dorian laughed. "I hope I haven't given you cause for complaint since."

"You are my light and my joy, vhenan'ara. Never doubt it."

"You haven't been looking so joyful lately."

"I've been thinking…" Anafiel trailed off, staring at the bustle of people in the courtyard below.

"…And?" Dorian prompted.

"I think…I think I'm done."

"Done?"

"With this." Anafiel waved his hand to encompass Skyhold Castle. "Being the Inquisitor." Dorian wasn't surprised- Anafiel's recent melancholy coupled with his almost obsessive overseeing of his inner circle's childrens' training was a dead giveaway. Actually, Dorian had expected something like this when Anafiel had been severely wounded on a mission several years ago.

They had been hunting darkspawn when an ogre came out of nowhere and thrown Anafiel into the side of a mountain. He had broken three ribs and his arm…they had gotten him to a healer, but his mobility still suffered to this day. Worse; that was the day they had lost Blackwall. He defended a shaken, wounded Anafiel and taken a fatal blow before the ogre could finally be taken down. Dorian could still remember Josephine's stricken face when they had told her. Dorian was just grateful that Anafiel hadn't been there- he had taken it hard enough.

He had been forced to relegate more and more of his ranging duties to Carver, Haven or Grey, even occasionally Morrigan's son Kieran, who was becoming a formidable mage in his own right. Dorian knew his lover chafed at being trapped within Skyhold's walls, friendly though they were, but the fact remained that Anafiel Lavellan was no longer the strapping young Dalish who had won the hearts of Thedas. Oh, he was still formidable and well loved, but…slower now.

More fragile.

Dorian rested his head on Anafiel's shoulder and sighed as the elf ran his fingers through the back of his salt-and-pepper hair. "I think that's wise."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. Let the younger generation have their turn. It saves them from having to assassinate you for your position."

Anafiel laughed, "Spoken like a true son of Tevinter."

"We could go there, you know. House Pavus stands open and awaiting my whim. You know mother's been writing me and begging me to come home since my father died."

"I'll think about it."

Dorian, who had been expecting outright refusal, perked up. "Really?"

"Yes, really, vhenan. I know it's important to you." Anafiel replied. "Besides, we'll have to give up our quarters when we elect a new Inquisitor anyway."

"And of course you'll be supporting the Young Lion."

"I don't know that I will, as a matter of fact."

Now, this was shocking. "Truly? You're _not _going to be backing the paragon of every earthly virtue? The maiden's sigh, his father's pride?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Carver is a fine lad and I see great things in store for him." Anafiel rolled his eyes at Dorian's words. "The Inquisition is lucky to have his talents. But...he's restless. He wants to see the world, carve a name for himself."

"What young man doesn't?"

"Yes, but can he tie himself down to the day to day details of running the Inquisition? The requisition orders, the farm reports, the…spirits, Dorian, you know as well as I what a thankless job this is at times. Besides…"

"I think I get the point." Dorian said wryly. "So, if not Carver, than who?"

"I think I'll keep it to myself for now."

"Suit yourself. Now," Dorian levered himself to his feet with his staff. "I'm going inside before I freeze my ass right off."

A true smile finally touched Anafiel's lips. "That would be a tragedy indeed."

Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him, his look more than a little impish. "Come with me, amatus. I'm sure we can find some kind of trouble to get in before supper."

"Your wish is my command, Master Pavus."


	2. Choices

Author's Note: This pretty little thing (which I don't own, incidentally…it belongs to Shira-chan) ( art/Just-a-Little-While-Longer-DA-I-Dorian-Inquisitor-505506895) is the whole inspiration for this fic.

A shout out and thank you to author JayRain for her lovely, encouraging reviews (go read her stuff! She does a great Dorian/Trevelyan pair-up, among other things) and to MikaHimura for the follow.

Warnings: Obviously, Dorian and M!Lavellan, so implied male on male intimacy. Mild swearing.

Translations:

Hamin: Rest, relax

Ma Vhenan: my heart

amatus: beloved

hahren: Elder. Used as a term of respect.

vir'abelasan: the place of the way of sorrows. Refers to the Well of Sorrows, and if you don't know what I'm talking about you should probably not be reading this right now. I guess that's my way of saying SPOILER ALERT.

Just a Little While Longer

The beast stalked the throne room slowly, carefully, searching for his prey. His shaggy fur was thick down his back, his claws and fangs long and yellowed with age. Suddenly, he heard breathing…it was nearby, high and fast…he padded toward it on silent feet…

"Ahh!" Liliane Tethras went running out from behind the throne, Anafiel roaring fearsomely as he pounced and caught her up in his arms. The other children- Lili's brother Anthony, Dagna's boy Lyr, and Grey's little sister Celeste- broke from their hiding places and ran to her 'aid'. Soon, they were all on the floor of Skyhold's great hall- the Herald of Andraste barefoot and covered in an old bear's skin- in a giggling pile of limbs. Dorian had walked in with Josephine on his arm and a gaggle of dignitaries behind him but not one of the 'hunters' noticed. They were too busy trying to avoid Anafiel, who was a well-known and deadly tickler.

"I believe our dear Inquisitor is the biggest child present…" Dorian commented with a chuckle. Anafiel did hear then, and he looked up with a smile. Lili had her arms around his neck but she looked up indignantly at Dorian's words.

"Is not 'Inquizzy'…is bear. Uncle Bear." She amended quickly.

"So he is, dear heart."

"My lord Inquisitor!" The doors burst open and one of Leliana's scouts rushed toward them. Anafiel took one look at the man's face and handed Liliane off to Josephine before pushing the bear's skin off his head. Josephine quietly herded the children and the visitors out toward the gardens.

"Report, Weaver."

"You should see this sir…"

.:*:.

"A fade rift? After twenty years?" Dorian was pacing, his long fingers tapping his leg irritably as Anafiel watched him from the bed. He himself was still as a statue; only his eyes moved as they followed his lover's movements. "It's all terribly convenient, isn't it? A fade rift appears on the night we begin discussions to choose the new Inquisitor? The _one thing _appears that you cannot delegate to anyone else?"

"You think someone is trying to take my voice out of the choosing?"

"I know it! The only question is who…" Dorian ran his hand through his hair with a huff. "Who would have the better chance if your voice wasn't heard? I certainly wouldn't put it past Morrigan…"

"I trust _every single person_ in this hold." Anafiel emphasized quietly. "Kieran is a good man, and a good mage. His mother should rightly be proud of him."

"That may be…but…"

"It's poor timing I'll admit, but we'll just have to postpone the choosing."

"Postpone…"

"Yes. Until after the rift has been closed. I am still Inquisitor- I can do things like that."

"Anafiel…"

"Dorian. Vhenan. We've been talking about it all day. I have heard every side of this story, believe me, and I personally do not want to waste the last night I have in a proper bed for what will probably be _weeks _arguing. I can think of a hundred better things for those marvelous lips to be doing."

"I'll go with you. There must be wards to set, dispels to cast…something I can do."

Anafiel caught Dorian's wrist, tugged him closer. "The only thing you will be _doing_, Master Pavus…" He said, his voice a husky growl. "…is me. Right now."

Even after all these years, Dorian couldn't resist that masterful tone. But long after they were done and Anafiel was sleeping peacefully beside him, Dorian found that he did not have the same luxury. His mind kept whirling; he knew the rift was no coincidence, and if it wasn't, then logically it was a trap for Anafiel. But why? Who? And why now?

"Dorian my love," Anafiel cracked one bleary eye open as Dorian shifted yet again, trying to find a comfortable spot. "If you don't settle in, I'm afraid I'm going to have to smother you with a pillow."

"Sorry, amatus."

In reply, Anafiel turned and pulled him close, his chest pressed firmly to Dorian's back. The Anchor smoldered with a viridian glow as he laced their fingers together, the other hand skimming lightly against Dorian's tangled hair. "Hamin, ma vhenan. Rest."

There it was again- that masterful, yet gentle, tone that Dorian always loved. It was the voice he had fallen in love with, the confidence and strength that could control men and mages alike, dissolve ancient rivalries and make monarchs bow… that voice that could make you think that you were the only person that mattered. He let himself relax into Anafiel's warmth and finally slept.

.:*:.

Despite the early hour of their departure, Dorian was still standing above the gate in his usual spot when Anafiel, along with Carver, Grey, Haven and Kieran, rode from Skyhold the next morning. Anafiel turned in the saddle to wave, relieved when Dorian waved back. He wished that they hadn't had to start the morning with another fight-it seemed like a bad omen. At least Dorian wouldn't be alone in his anger; Cassandra was not well pleased that Anafiel was taking Haven along so soon after she had gotten home.

The girl herself didn't seem to mind. She was practically bouncing in the saddle with excitement. "I'm so glad you brought me along, Uncle." All the children called Anafiel 'uncle' when no one was around. "Ranging with the famed Inquisitor, facing demons and fade rifts…it's like living one of father's stories!"

"You will write plenty of stories for yourself, dear heart." Anafiel replied with a fond smile. "You don't need to live in mine."

"She is correct, Inquisitor." Kieran said from his place at Anafiel's right. "It is an honor. Thank you for allowing me to come."

"It was no hardship, Kieran." And in fact, Kieran was one of the strongest mages Anafiel had ever seen; himself included. In fact, he reminded him strongly of Solas- quiet, intelligent, always listening inward to the things Beyond.

"I am curious about something, hahren." Anafiel smiled- yet another thing he loved about Kieran was his unfailing courtesy. "Did the vir'abelasan not warn you? I know the spirits see many things beyond our ken."

"No. They whisper of many things, but not of this."

"Good!" Carver grinned his widest, sunniest smile. "Myself, I'd rather be surprised."

The matter was dropped as they moved on to other conversation, but Anafiel knew that Kieran knew that he had lied. Well, sort of lied. The spirits had said nothing about a fade rift, but Anafiel had been having dreams for months now. Dreams of wolves and mirrors, doors that unlocked with his touch, dragons dissolving into tiny pinpricks of light. And Anafiel knew with certainty that for good or ill, this would be his last ranging. How do you tell that to the ones you love and what would they do with it? Assure him that they were only dreams, call him crazy or spend precious time worrying. So he chose not to speak out.

They made good time across the mountains and soon they were at the borders of the Emerald Graves. Anafiel had loved this place from the first moment he saw it. The ancient power of his people saturated the very stones at their feet, made him feel as though he were drowning in power. His spells were stronger here, his vision clearer, and that was before he had drank from the Well of Sorrows. Every rock and tree had a history, history which the spirits were more than happy to tell, and he was happy to pass along to his young companions.

It was early on their third day in the Graves when it happened. Anafiel was discussing ambient spell casting with Kieran when the Anchor flared with life so strongly he almost fell off his hart. He hissed displeasure- it had been many years since he had had to deal with controlling the power in his mark. "Uncle?" Haven asked, concern on her pretty face.

Anafiel cradled his hand against his stomach, forced the pain to the background. "We're close."

"Yes," Grey confirmed. "It should be just over the next rise."

Anafiel knew something was wrong the moment he saw the rift. It was so _still_, barely moving at all, the green shot through with blue. Something about it brought to mind the Eluvian that currently sat in Skyhold Castle. His magic, not just the Anchor but the actual force interwoven with his soul, _reached_ for it, ached to be one with its power.

"There's someone there!" Carver's voice rang sharply. Indeed, there was a figure standing just beyond the rift, average height and pointed ears, a staff in its hands.

Grey rode up beside him, "Do you think he…uncle?"

Anafiel had ridden beyond them. The rift crackled at his approach, the Anchor pulsating in perfect rhythm. He slid from the saddle and walked purposefully toward the breach. The figure also came from behind the rift and approached. The voices of the well clamored to be heard, but Anafiel didn't need their knowledge to know who stood before him.

"Hahren. You look well."

Solas smiled. "Hello, old friend."


	3. Hahren

_Author's Note: __Oh my Lord, the SPOILERS in this installment are almost too much to handle! If you haven't finished the game, STOP READING, do yourself a favor and go beat it…I'll wait. _

_Welcome back. Thanks ever so first of all to JayRain for being the most faithful of reviewers. The shout-out on your lovely story, "Fumbling Toward Who We Are" was amazing. Thank you also to AgapeErosPhilia (great name, btw) for the great review and to anb1388, kikalina, and emelyscha for the favorites and follows. Stick with me folks! We're getting toward the end here, but aren't quite there yet. Enjoy! _

_Translations:_

_ Hahren: Elder_

_ Elvhen: Literally "Our People". The elves name for themselves. _

_ Lethallin: akin to "cousin" or "clansmen"…the word used for a dear friend who is like family_

_ Arlathan: from the phrase Ar lath'an meaning "I love this place". The lost city of the elves._

_ Uthenera: Literally "eternal waking dream", it was the state the immortal Elvhen would go into when they tired of life. _

_ Da'len: little child; a term of endearment_

For A Little While Longer

Solas hadn't changed at all, at least physically. His power, however, was another story entirely. Anafiel felt it saturating the air around them, reaching like a living thing, pulling at him almost…hungrily. Still, he tried to keep his tone light. "You had to tack the 'old' on there, didn't you Solas?"

"I meant no disrespect."

"Of course you didn't."

Solas looked behind him, his face softening. "I know Kieran, and the blonde is certainly Cullen's."

"Yes. Carver. We call him the Young Lion."

"The dark-haired boy?"

"Grey."

"Ah," Solas nodded understanding. "Blackwall's. Then the girl is…"

"Varric's. Her name is Haven."

"Varric and…?"

Anafiel couldn't help but smile. "Cassandra."

Solas shook his head with an expression of disbelief. "And here I thought I had seen everything."

"You'll have to stop saying people are predictable after this."

"Inquisitor, watch out!" The group had finally come into sight range. Kieran dropped from his horse and ran to take a defensive posture in front of Anafiel, the others close behind. "I know this man. He's not what he appears!"

"Kieran…"

"No, Inquisitor. Let him speak." Solas faced the younger man, "Who do you say I am, Child of the Old Gods?"

"The Dread Wolf…" Kieran replied softly. He blanched at Solas's name for him, but stood firm. "Fen'Harel."

"And where would you get such an idea?"

"I can see it. It's branded in your soul. But it's not whole…the Inquisitor holds your power. The power you have is stolen from another."

"Clever boy." Solas complimented. "Anafiel indeed holds Fen'Harel's remaining power. Not all…but some. Enough, I hope."

"Enough…for what?" The question came from Grey. Solas, who always did appreciate curiosity, glanced at him with an approving eye but quickly turned his attention back to Anafiel.

"I tried to give you as many years as I could, lethallin. I knew you were happy, and rightly so. You've created a practical utopia at Skyhold. But now, we're out of time."

"Solas…tell me what's going on."

"The Creators, Anafiel. I've found a way to free them."

Anafiel froze in shock, not sure he heard correctly. The spirits of the well were louder than he had ever heard them, demanding his attention, straining, _yearning _toward the rift-that-was-not-a-rift. But apparently he was not the only one with questions. "Wait, what?" Haven's eyes were wide with disbelief. "The Creators as in the _Elven Gods?!_ You can free the Elven Gods?"

"That is the hope."

"Sweet Andraste's dimpled bosom…" Grey breathed incredulously. Solas laughed.

"Your father had an affinity for creative swearing as well," He told him. "In this case, it is the wrong pantheon but we'll accept it for now."

"You can…free them?" Anafiel was still having trouble processing. If it was true…_if it was TRUE…_his mind reeled at the implications.

"Actually…you can." Solas replied. "The Anchor…it doesn't just close. It is a key, and keys can open as well. At first I thought with enough power, I could do it myself. But it seems that a focusing element is needed."

"Hang on," Haven interjected. "So you're going to take a whole bunch of magic, fire it through the Inquisitor's hand at this rift and release a bunch of _very _powerful beings from millenniums of captivity?"

"A simplified version, but not entirely inaccurate."

"Are we forgetting that if you _are _Fen'Harel, you're the reason they're locked away? Don't you think they might be just a touch irritated with you? And by proxy, anyone who stood with you? Like the _Inquisition_?"

"The Inquisition will be perfectly safe, I assure you. I will take full responsibility for my past actions. Besides, Skyhold would resist all attempts to harm those currently within its walls."

"You talk about it like it has feelings…" Grey muttered. Solas gave him an enigmatic smile.

"How do you know it doesn't?"

"What do I need to do?" Anafiel broke in. "What do you need of me, hahren?"

Solas let out a relieved breath. "You will serve willingly? I am glad of that."

"Would you have forced him?" Kieran asked, eyes riveted on Solas. "You could have. You speak with Mythal's voice."

"You see much, Child of the Old Gods." Solas surveyed him with new interest. "I would have forced him, if I had needed to. But it is better this way."

"You guys are talking like he's never tackled a rift before," Haven said. "So the Inquisitor opens the rift, frees the gods, closes it again and boom! We're back to Skyhold."

"I am afraid it's not that easy, dear heart."

Solas sighed faintly. "The Spirits have told you then?"

"Told you what, Uncle?"

"A mortal is not meant to channel the power of the gods. When I do this, there is an excellent chance I will not survive." There was immediate outcry at his words but Anafiel held up his hand for silence. "This is not open for discussion. This one action could save my people from extinction. If my life is the price, than I lay it down gladly."

"At least let us stand with you, Inquisitor!" Carver protested hotly. "You don't have to go alone…"

"He will not stand alone." Solas contradicted softly. "I will walk with him."

"All of you stay back." Anafiel commanded. "Be prepared to ride to Skyhold. No matter what happens here, the Inquisition will need to know." There was no room for debate, and no one argued, not when Anafiel spoke like that. When they had withdrawn to a safe distance, Anafiel turned to Solas with a smile.

"So…just like old times, hmm? Rifts, ancient gods…"

"It seems to be your fate." Solas agreed. "Inquisitor…Anafiel…"

"It's fine, Solas. One thing though," Here his eyes took on a sad cast. "Dorian...he'll be furious. Show him why this is so important. Tell him…tell him how much I adore him."

"Who knows? You may get the chance to tell him yourself." Solas smiled faintly. "It would not be the first time you cheated death."

"We'll hold onto that thought." Anafiel flexed his left hand. The Anchor was already swirling with power and strangely, though his life was more in danger than perhaps it ever was, Anafiel was at peace. "Shall we?"

"Yes." Solas placed his hand on Anafiel's shoulder. His power merged with Anafiel's seamlessly, as it had done many times before. It was a bond forged in battle, and not easily broken. Solas released more of his energy, chanting something in old Elvhen, and though he couldn't understand all the words Anafiel knew what he needed to do. He raised his hand to the rift, took a deep breath and focused the Anchor's power_. _Light burst from the rift, knocked him flat on his back…

_Arlathan in all its glory, spiraling crystal in the trees. We do not _do _magic, we breathe it. We live it. It is ours. The Maker? Maker of what? We were the Creators, the first to shape a formless void. We are the Creators and we will return. _

_So many fallen, so much lost. So many forgotten children, their blood quickened and diluted…their magic poisoned and Uthenera denied them. Their blood calls us from the roots of ancient trees, and we…will….AVENGE!_

"Uncle! Uncle Anafiel, please wake up!"

Slowly, Anafiel focused on Haven's terrified face. "Da'len…what…?"

"Something's happening to the rift!"

Anafiel raised himself to his elbows, feeling every single one of his sixty years taunting him, but the rush of adrenaline pushed the pain back. A group- no, an _army_\- of spirits were pouring from the rift. These weren't mindless demons, however- these were fully outfitted Elven warriors with nearly identical looks of grim purpose and drawn weapons. He watched Solas and Kieran cast at almost the same time, a shield shimmering up and over everyone's heads. Grey and Carver stood side by side, their shields interlocking in a defensive posture and swords in hand. Anafiel grasped his staff and used it to lever himself to his feet. He went to add his own power to the shield…and gasped as a wave of pain drove him to one knee.

Solas spoke, pleading with them in Elvhen, but his words were like wind. The Elven warriors advanced. Kieran sent a lightning spell arcing into the first wave, dropping many of them in their tracks. Solas froze one, then another and Grey and Carver rapidly dispatched them. Haven fired bolt after bolt from her crossbow but it seemed that for every one that dropped, two more appeared. Excellent fighters though they were, it would not take long before they were overwhelmed.

"Inquisitor!" Solas yelled back at him, "Close the rift! Hurry!"

Anafiel rose to his feet again. He pushed back the pain, the sounds of battle, and focused on the swirling heart of the rift. This was easy…this he had done a thousand times. He called the power of the rift to him and into the Anchor. It didn't want to bend to his will, but he didn't care what it wanted. He was the Inquisitor, damn it! He got a firmer grasp on it and _pulled _with all his strength…

The rift slammed close, the remainder of its power rushing down to Anafiel. The strange magic was too much. With a sound like every pane of glass in Thedas had been dropped at the same time, the Anchor shattered and Anafiel was thrown back again.

Strangely, his first thought was not of the excruciating pain in his hand…it was of snow melting in hair the color of ebony, and the gentle smile that Dorian reserved only for him. He heard a familiar voice cry, "Take them to the Crossroads!" but he didn't see Solas reveal his true form at last, a massive wolf-like creature whose roar of rage gave the warriors cause for pause. He didn't see Kieran cast the portal that would take them all to safety. He barely felt it when Grey hoisted him into his brawny arms. And then…he felt nothing at all.


	4. Crossroads

Author's Note: Fair warning- Have the tissues handy for this one. I had such a hard time writing it. It was like my fingers were protesting every word!

Thanks to JayRain and kikalina for the review, and welcome to my new follower Cameri! You guys absolutely make my day!

Translations: 

Amatus: beloved

Lethallin: kinsman, a term of affection to one who is like family

Vhenan: Heart, a term of endearment

vhenan'ara: Heart's desire

Vallasdahlen: Life-tree, a tree planted to mark the passing of a great hero

Just A Little While Longer

Haven exited the portal first, stumbling and skinning her knees against the rough flagstone. She barely had time to register that they were- thank the MAKER and any other god that was listening- back at Skyhold before she was up and running. "Mother!" She burst through the doors leading out to the courtyard, almost fell again when she hit the stairs but quickly righted herself. "Mother!"

Her cry not only brought Cassandra from the armory, but Cullen from his tower and half the tavern, including Cole and The Iron Bull. "What happened?" Haven was shaking as Cassandra pulled her into a tight embrace. "What is it, my girl?"

"They pull toward freedom, toward a light that isn't theirs," Cole stated. "They woke, then waited, wanting, wishing until he pulled open the door. Then they marched and it broke, shimmering spines stabbing..."

"Uncle…Anafiel…we went to the rift, but it wasn't a rift it was a portal and Solas was there..."

"Solas?!"

"Yes, only Kieran called him Fen'Harel and he said he could free the Elven Gods so Uncle broke open the rift with Solas's power and the Anchor…it shattered…"

Cassandra grabbed Haven's shoulders, pushed her back just enough to look in her eyes. "Anafiel is hurt? Is he alive?" At her daughter's nod, Cassandra barked at a dumbstruck guard, "You! Fetch the healers and bring them to the Inquisitor's quarters. Now!" The man didn't even stop to salute but ran like there were demons at his heels. "Cole, find Dorian…" The spirit was gone before she could even finish her sentence. "Bull, Cullen…tell the others. If something should happen…"

The two men nodded grimly. If the worst should happen, Skyhold needed to be prepared.

The healers, Haven and Cassandra reached the Inquistor's quarters at the same time. They entered to find an ashen-faced Kieran on his knees next to the bed; even from where they stood they could feel his magic practically hemorrhaging into Anafiel. They rushed forward, tried to pull him back, but to their surprise he fought them. "No! No, I have to stop the corruption from spreading!"

"Lad, you'll kill yourself trying!" The younger of the two healers was a brawny man but even he was having trouble holding the near-hysterical mage. "You're bleeding life-energy as it is!"

The older healer had taken the opportunity to examine Anafiel's hand. Even with Kieran's help, the light from the Anchor had begun to spread up Anafiel's arm like blood poisoning. He looked up, face grim. "It can't be stopped. The mark is bleeding magic at a rapid rate; the best we can do is slow the progression."

"Will he…?" Cassandra couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence.

"We don't know. The Anchor is like nothing we've ever seen. But it doesn't look promising."

Anafiel convulsed under the healer's hands, muttering in rapid Elvhen. Cassandra raked a hand through her dark hair, "Curse it! Where the hell is Dorian?"

"Here." The Tevene shoved the healer aside and took Anafiel's hand. "Anafiel Lavellan, you ridiculous man…didn't I tell you not to go?"

"Dorian." Anafiel murmured. "Dorian…"

"That's right. Open your eyes, amatus." It took a moment, but Anafiel obeyed. He smiled when he saw his lover's face.

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet." Dorian deadpanned. "But when you heal up, I'm going to kill you, so be prepared."

"Not…going to happen. I can feel…"

"Never mind what you feel. I forbid you to die, do you understand?"

Anafiel's eyes fluttered shut again, but he still wore the ghost of a smile. "As you command, Master Pavus."

(*&amp;*)

"How's Uncle?"

"I've never seen such strength of will," Cassandra murmured to Grey as he came to take her place. It had been three days of watching, waiting with nerves taut to see if Anafiel would pull through. Three days of watching his body slowly shut down, laboring for every breath, crying out against pain they couldn't soothe. They pitched their voices low so they would not disturb either of the two figures asleep on the wide bed- Cassandra had just persuaded Dorian to sleep, his first true rest since Anafiel was brought in, and once he had given in he had merely passed out on top of the covers fully clothed. "He seems to be resting comfortably for now."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yes but…the corruption still spreads."

"He's strong. There's still a chance he could make it."

"Perhaps." Cassandra's eyes still showed doubt, even as she smiled at Grey's encouragement. "Cullen will be in this evening to take your place." She said as she turned to go.

Anafiel, watching them from his dreams in the Fade, knew he was dying. He wished he could tell them the truth in a way that wouldn't hurt them. Cassandra, at least, harbored no doubts. She of all of them would be able to let him go with grace, and she would help the others of his inner circle to do the same. Time would heal Grey, Haven, Carver and Kieran and soon he would be just a pleasant memory to the littlest ones as well. But Dorian…ah, what was he to do about Dorian?

"I'm afraid there's nothing you _can_ do."

"Just the same," Anafiel turned to look at Solas. "I worry about him."

"Did you know?" The elf looked genuinely curious. "Did you know, when you started, how much you would love him?"

"It seemed unthinkable that we would ever be apart. I needed him as much as I needed air in my lungs…but I didn't realize it until there was a chance I would have to let him go. Luckily, he chose to stay. And now I'm the one who will have to leave him. I don't regret it," Anafiel was quick to reassure the other mage. "But I do wish I could have gone without hurting him."

"Are you sure you would shorten your remaining days?"

"Anything is better than slow torture."

"Then I offer you one more gift, lethallin. The gift of mercy." Solas took Anafiel's face in his hands. Power flickered behind Solas's eyes, giving a glimpse into things unseen, and then he was the same solemn mage Anafiel had met on the road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. "You can say your goodbyes when you _wake up_."

Dorian knew when the Anchor made its last push. He felt it reverberate in his very being, jolting him awake with an emotion akin to panic. Anafiel squeezed his hand.

"It's…alright, vhenan. It's better this way."

"Anafiel…"

"Dorian…" Anafiel could barely catch his breath, "Want to see…the trees."

Dorian choked back the catch in his throat, forced his voice to be steady. "Alright, amatus."

"I'll take him," Grey offered quietly. "If Uncle doesn't mind." At Anafiel's nod, he gently raised the elf into his solid arms. Dorian and Grey found the Great Hall and gardens both empty, which wasn't a surprise- most of the castle had been packing the Chantry for the last few days, praying for Anafiel's recovery. Dorian settled on the ground under Anafiel's favorite tree, a rare apple tree from Orlais that had been a gift from the Empress. He had planted it their first year in Skyhold, but it still bloomed with snowy radiance every year.

Grey carefully set Anafiel down beside Dorian, tried to keep his head to the side so neither mage could see the suspicious dampness on his cheeks, but Anafiel caught his wrist. "You're a good lad, Grey. Honest, brave and true. Your father would have been proud…as I am." Grey looked down at the item Anafiel had pressed into his hand. The Inquisitor's signet ring, the mark of his power, lay in his palm.

"Uncle…I can't…Maker's Balls, I know nothing about…"

"You will learn," Anafiel cut him off with a faint smile. "I did."

"I will…do my best to be worthy of the title. Thank you, my lord." Grey bent his knee, clenched his fist over his heart in a salute and withdrew.

"A wise choice," Dorian commented.

"He'll do well." Anafiel sighed contentedly as the breeze kicked up, bringing the scent of earth and apple blossoms. "We've had a good life, haven't we Dorian?"

"Yes," Dorian replied. He cradled his lover's head in his lap, smoothed Anafiel's long white hair away from his forehead. "If you don't count the holes in the sky, the archdemon and the insane magisters. And the crazy possessed Templars. And the dragons. Oh, and the darkspawn!"

"Don't forget the giants."

"Oh yes, the giants! So charming. Why did we never bring one to Skyhold?"

"I hear they're a pain to feed."

"Can't be any worse than The Iron Bull…"

Anafiel laughed at that, but it was lost in a fit of coughing. The sound wrenched at Dorian's heart. With every labored breath, the light from the Anchor dimmed. Dorian couldn't even feel Anafiel's magic anymore, and suddenly it terrified him. What would he do without Anafiel, without his warmth and humor and occasional fierceness? How was he supposed to survive without his voice in his ear, assuring him of his worth…assuring him that he was loved, treasured beyond all price? "Let me come with you," Dorian found himself begging. "Let me stay by your side, just a little while longer, please amatus…"

"It's not your path to walk yet, vhenan'ara, but I'll make you a promise."

"Will you?"

"Yes," Anafiel smiled up at him, "I promise I won't be far. Just beyond the Veil."

"How can you possibly promise that?"

"Well, I have physically walked the Fade twice. I think I qualify as an expert."

Anafiel couldn't tell if Dorian was laughing or crying, but it was alright. He raised his hand to touch his face, closed his eyes when the mage pressed a kiss to his palm. His eyes never opened again. Dorian knew Anafiel was gone, but he couldn't help but call his name until it was no longer a name but an outpouring of broken anguish.

(*&amp;*)

The pillows still smelled like him. A week after Anafiel's death and Dorian could still catch that faint trace of pine, of rain and the scent of the air just after a lightning strike. Anafiel was…had been…a remarkable storm mage. Dorian still couldn't think of him in the past tense. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to do much at all. He hadn't moved from their…his…bed since he had seen his lover's body laid out in full state in the Great Hall, surrounded by candles and wailing.

It was better here. Here he could remember the pillow talk and the teasing, the way Anafiel's eyes softened when they looked at him, his lips as they curled into a smile, the warmth of his kisses. Perhaps if he stayed here long enough, he would just fade away, borne on a tide of listless melancholy. "Uncle Dorian?" He hadn't even heard Haven come in. She was holding a bowl of warm water and a comb. "Uncle…I thought maybe you would like to get ready. For the…funeral. "

Vaguely, he felt sorry for causing the petrified look on her face as he rose out of bed, but the fury pulsing through his veins was enough to blind him. "Funeral? Don't make me laugh! I won't go down there and watch a bleating bunch of sisters from a religion _he didn't even believe in_ reduce that beautiful man's life to banal trivialities and platitudes while idiots who knew his name and nothing else sob as though they had any right to mourn him! It sickens me!" Dorian doubled over as nausea hit him in waves, clutching his midriff as grief threatened to overwhelm him. Then to his surprise he felt Haven's gentle hand on his back.

"The Chantry funeral's over already." She informed him. "I hear it was lovely, but I didn't go. I was too busy gathering every Dalish clan within range of Skyhold."

"The Dalish?"

"Yes. Father contacted an old friend, Merrill, and she brought Uncle Anafiel's clan down from Wycome. Then, Marquise Briala showed up with a cutting of a Vallasdahlen…"

"A life tree? Really?" Dorian's eyes finally lifted to her face. There was a spark of the old Dorian there, always thirsting for knowledge. "He always loved the trees..."

"Come on," Haven helped him to his feet with a smile. "I'll find you something clean to wear."


	5. Herald's Rest

Author's Note: Whew! Finally, we're at the end! I dedicate this chapter to JayRain, as an apology for the emotional pain and suffering I inflicted upon you in the last chapter. May there be sunnier days ahead! Thank you all for sticking with me! I am currently working on more pieces of Anafiel's story, as well as a little F!Trevelyan/Dorian/The Iron Bull triangle that I think has a lot of promise, so stay tuned!

The song in the story can be listened to here: watch?v=EAANKFPchtA

For A Little While Longer

Varric let out a sigh of relief when he saw them coming up the hill. He was a little nervous about sending Haven to get Dorian alone, but she had insisted on it. Apparently, she had been right. "They're here."

The crowd parted- truly it looked like Merrill and Haven had brought every Dalish clan in Ferelden. Marquise Briala went straight to Dorian, handing him a tiny sapling in an exquisite sylvanwood box with a gracious bow. Dorian could feel its power like a heartbeat in his fingertips. "I grieve for your loss, Lord Pavus. The Inquisitor…pardon me," She sent an apologetic glance to Grey, who stood in his brand new dragon armor emblazoned with the Inquisitor's crest, but he waved away her concern. "Lord Lavellan was remarkable. He will be sorely missed."

"Indeed." Empress Celene had finally caught up with her lover. "His passing leaves a hole in the world that nothing can fill."

They didn't need to tell Dorian that, but he forced himself to answer with courtesy, if only for Anafiel's sake. "Thank you, your grace. He would have been very pleased at your generous gift."

"We thought it a more fitting tribute than…that." Briala motioned off to her right in disgust…and it was then that Dorian saw the memorial.

It was a monstrosity. A mage- Dorian assumed it was meant to be Anafiel, though if the ears hadn't been pointed he would never have known- held a gnarled staff aloft, his face lifted to the sky while he held the symbol of Andraste out in front of him. It was carved in viridian, except for the everite base which contained a brass plaque with the loquacious inscription, "Here lies the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor- a beacon of hope for us all."

"Maker's Balls," Grey muttered, also eyeing the ridiculous statue with distaste. "It was from the Chantry, how was I supposed to say no?"

Dorian just stood there, staring, his mustache quivering with suppressed emotion …he could hear Anafiel's amused voice in his ear, clear as a bell- 'They never get my nose right'- and then, he was laughing, laughing until tears streamed down his face. It felt good, cleansing.

The memorial was short and sweet. Clan Lavellan's first, a woman named Talisa, delivered the service in Elven while Merrill translated for the others. Dorian set the Vallasdahlen carefully in the hole that had been dug and patted the earth around it. "It is our custom," Talisa addressed the gathering after the tree had been watered and blessed, "to remember our fallen through story and song. Is there any who wish share their memories of Anafiel Lavellan?"

To everyone's surprise, it was Grey who spoke first. "The Inquisitor was a great man. He did so much for me and my family after my father died. But the thing I remember most…Andraste's tits, this is going to sound ridiculous…" Carver nudged him and he continued, "He always took care of his own mounts. Especially the harts, wouldn't let a groomsman near them. It didn't matter if it was sleeting, pouring rain or if he was in danger of bleeding out, he would make sure his mount was fed, brushed and comfortable before he would even think of himself. I always admired him for that."

"The first time Anafiel played Wicked Grace with us, he lost his shirt. I've never seen anyone besides Cullen lose that bad." Varric sent a sly look to the Commander, who was studiously avoiding his eyes. "But he kept playing. I just thought he was a glutton for punishment at first, but then he started winning. And kept winning. And finally, after recouping his losses and making us pay in rather ruthless, embarrassing ways for all the times he had been humiliated, I realized…he had been feeding us false tells. He had been deliberately losing so that he would have time to study us and learn our tells in return. I've never seen anyone run a better bluff."

After that, the stories came quickly, some short, some long, all of them telling the tale of a good man; brave and honest, stubborn and fierce, who hated injustice and fish stew, who reveled in songs and practical jokes and strawberries…a man who loved deeply, and was deeply loved in return. There was a long pause after the last story, until Leliana began to sing.

"Hahren na melana sahlin

emma ir abelas

souver'inan isala hamin

vhenan him dor'felas

in uthenera na revas…"

Dorian knew the song- he had heard Anafiel sing it once before, at the funeral for his old clan first Deshanna Istimaethorial. Ever inquisitive, he had made Anafiel translate it later, and then sing it to him again. The song of mourning was picked up by the Dalish clans, the beautiful harmonies carried across the valley, and then it was over. Anafiel Lavellan, the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste and Liberator of the Creators, was put to rest at last.

.:*:.

Inquisitor Grey Rainier hiked the hill with a steady stride, relishing his brief moments of freedom. He soon stood in the clearing the people of Skyhold called Herald's Rest, but he found to his surprise that he was not alone. A tall man with long, gray hair stood with his hand on the slender trunk of the Vallasdahlen, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"Uncle Dorian!" Grey embraced the older man in delight. "You're early! We didn't expect you until next week." Next week…the anniversary of Anafiel's death. No matter how busy they were, Dorian and whoever else from the original Inquisition that could make it, gathered at Skyhold and lifted a glass in Anafiel's name.

"You know how I love surprises." Dorian surveyed Grey with a smile. The fifteen years since they had stood together before the Vallasdahlen had been kind to the young Inquisitor- his eyes still twinkled with merriment, and though there were more lines around his eyes and mouth, his dark hair still showed no signs of gray.

"I am glad you're here," Grey replied. "Your room's not ready though…I'll get them to air it as soon as we return to the castle." Grey never had moved into Anafiel and Dorian's old quarters. Instead, he kept it open for Dorian's yearly visits from Tevinter.

"I am perfectly happy to stay in the guest chambers…"

"Nonsense." Grey scoffed with an adamant shake of his head. "That will be your room…and his…until you leave us for good."

"I appreciate it Grey. Truly."

"It's nothing, really. In fact, I'll go take care of it now. Do you want to walk down with me?"

"I believe I'll stay for a little while longer."

Grey nodded understanding. He was almost to the slope of the hill before he turned back. Dorian had resumed his stance by the tree as though by touching its smooth bark he could channel his lost love. "It never got any easier for you, did it?" He asked sadly.

"No, I can't say that it ever did." Dorian replied with a crooked half-smile. "Go on. Leave an old man to his musings." Grey did as he was told, and Dorian turned back to the tree.

"A fine choice, amatus." He murmured. "You would be proud."

"I have always been proud of Grey." Anafiel stood before him, a wide smile on his handsome face. He looked young again, healthy, with none of the pain that had dimmed his crimson eyes the last time Dorian had seen him. He stepped forward, twined his fingers with Dorian's and pressed a kiss onto the mage's forehead. "As I have always been proud of you. I have missed you, vhenan. Welcome home."

When Dorian didn't return to Skyhold by supper, Grey and Haven went looking for him. They found him lying on the grass in front of the Vallasdahlen, a peaceful smile on his face and his eyes closed as though he merely slept, dreaming sweet dreams. They planted another tree in his honor near Anafiel's and over the years, the two grew together so much that no one could tell where one stopped and the other began. They stand there still, in the clearing known as Herald's Rest, watching over Skyhold like benevolent sentinels, reminders of a love that transcended death.


End file.
